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This is part of the story of the abuse I went through when I was a child. Although I am new to this forum I have been writing the story of my abuse for a while now. As best I can I am writing and sharing my experiences in chronological order starting at the beginning and sharing to the time I escaped. I have written about the first 8 months or so of a nearly three year event. I still have much more to go before I am finished. As a means to help keep my story organized and recognize the order of events I have given each part of my experiences a title and chapter number. It's mostly to help me organize my thoughts.

As a precaution I will have a trigger warning in the title of these threads and also a separate trigger warning within the thread. The trigger warning within the thread will have a rating of 0-10. Zero being not at all triggering and 10 being highly triggering. I urge people who are vulnerable to being triggered to heed these warnings.

This is a first in a series of chapters I am sharing explaining the sexual abuse my dad subjected me to between 12/25/1988 when it began, and 10/14/1991 when I finally had the courage to leave. More then nineteen years later, I am setting out on a journey to find peace. This series of chapters is part of my journey. I sincerely hope by sharing my story, I can heal, and maybe help someone else on their own journey to peace.

1 TRIGGER WARNING 1

Chapter 1, The First Time My Dad Molested Me

My earliest memories of my dad’s depravity seemed rather innocuous in comparison to his later acts of evilness. Dad was always looking for an excuse for hugging and kissing me; he often wanted me to sit in his lap. Although up to this point in my life he had never touched me in an inappropriate place, I still felt like something wasn’t right. I often felt uncomfortable to be around him. I always kind of chalked it up to him not wanting me to grow up, and wanting to show as much affection as he could before I wasn’t a child anymore.

It was Christmas morning 1988, I was 13 years old. We were opening gifts like we did every year. Like most parents, they would wrap up silly gifts like underwear in an attempt to embarrass their kids while they opened them in front of others. I hated that, why do parents want to embarrass their kids? Of course we were all there, mom, dad, grandma, aunts, and uncles. Dad was playing the role of Santa by passing out the gifts. A few gifts were passed out to each of us, and he passed out one more to me. I thought it was socks or a t-shirt by the way it felt, but after removing the wrapper I realized it was underwear. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, and I ignored the laughter of the entire family. I simply made a mental note to myself to never embarrass my kids when I grew up. I continued to open gifts and look through them just like any 13 year old would.

I heard my mom tell my dad in a quiet voice, “I don’t remember buying those for her”. Dad replied, “I bought them”. I didn’t think too much of it, after all what is inappropriate about a father buying clothes, even underwear for his daughter? I mean it wasn’t like they were an unusual style; they were a plain Fruit Of The Loom three pack of ordinary cotton underwear. I had zero reason to assume something sinister in its intent. So in my naiveté I allowed the whole event to be no more than a passing thought.

We finished unwrapping gifts. I helped mom clean up the torn strips of Christmas wrapping paper and satin ribbons which were sporadically strewed around the living room. I carried my gifts to my bedroom and returned to the living room. I thanked everyone for their gifts, as everyone else thanked one another similarly. My grandma asked me what my favorite gift was. I was about to say my stonewashed jeans and stonewashed jean jacket, (Don’t laugh, at the time that was the style.) but before I had a chance to answer, dad answered for me. “She likes her new underwear.” Okay, by this time I was getting a little embarrassed by the underwear conversation; but I ignored it and once again brushed it off as a parent trying to aggravate.

Mom and grandma went into the kitchen to cook their world famous Christmas breakfast. It always took the two of them more then two hours to prepare, and it inevitably turned into a brunch as oppose to a breakfast. Each year we would gorge ourselves on biscuits and gravy, pancakes, eggs, sausage, French toast, and fried taters. While we stuffed our faces we would laugh and talk. Dad, my uncles, and aunts would tell stories of their childhood and Christmas’s of past years.

While they were in the kitchen cooking, I was in the living room with dad, his brothers, and sister. Dad and his sister were sitting on the couch and his older and younger brother were sitting in the recliners. I walked toward the couch to sit down between my dad and aunt, but before I had a chance to sit down dad pulled me toward him by my waist and had me sit in his lap. Again this wasn’t a big deal. I have sat in his lap many times, and in all honesty I was a daddy’s girl, I liked the attention. I sat in his lap for about five minutes before dad started trying to aggravate me again. He whispered to me, “Go try your new underwear on for us”. I giggled and said, “No way, I don’t think so”. My aunt wanted to know what we were talking about. My dad explained it to her.

This is when it became strange and uncomfortable for me. While dad was explaining what we were talking about, I could feel something poking me. At the time it didn’t occur to me what It was. I thought there was something in his pocket I was sitting on. I blurted out, “Dad, whatever is in your pocket is poking me in my butt”. My aunt and uncles all of a sudden became silent, and my dad pushed me off of him. He said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the little boys room”. He was in the bathroom for about ten minutes. Although at that moment I didn’t really understand what just happened; during those ten minutes I began to think about my 8th grade biology class. A wave of realization, or an epiphany rolled through my mind, and I suddenly understood what had happened. My dad had got an erection while I was sitting in his lap. WHAT? WHY? HOW?

I was confused; I didn’t know what to make of it. My biology teacher told the class it was a physical reaction to sexual stimuli. But how could that be? Why would he get excited by me, his daughter, sitting in his lap? The more I began to understand, the more questions I had. I kept searching for some kind of rational explanation within my young mind, but it couldn’t be rationalized. The more I realized how un-rational his biological reaction was, the more weird I felt, and the more uncomfortable in my own skin I became.

By the time dad was done in the bathroom and returned to the living room, I had scooted over on the couch up against my aunt. I think she realized what had happened also, because after my dad sat back down on the couch, he wanted me to scoot back over next to him, and my aunt said in a playful voice, “Brother, you get to see her all the time, this is my time with my niece“. I was glad she said that. Although I didn’t feel threatened, or scared of dad at this time. I just didn’t feel right, I felt strange. I can only explain how I feel now, because I have had many years to gain a better understanding of what happened that day.

Mom yelled from the kitchen, “Foods almost ready, everyone wash your hands”. Dad said he already washed his, and then my aunt and two uncles stood up and then walked towards the bathroom to wash their hands. I stood up to follow because even though I didn’t feel scared or threatened by dad, I didn’t want to be alone with him at that moment. Dad told me, “Julia, come here a minute”. I always minded my dad with very little hesitation. I turned around and walked over to him as the rest of them scampered off to wash their hands. Dad put one hand on each of my shoulders, and then leaned in face to face and said, “Don’t ever, try and embarrass me again”. It was the first time I have ever felt afraid of my dad. It wasn’t what he said; it was the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, and the weight of his hands pushing down on my shoulders. He looked like my dad, but didn't feel like him.

I wanted to cry, and almost did. My aunt and uncles were finished washing their hands and were walking into the kitchen. I walked into the bathroom, and for the first time in my life, I locked the door behind me. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself while washing my hands. I tried so hard not to cry, but what I was feeling was alien to me. I didn’t know how to process what had happened. I argued amongst myself. One side of me was telling me nothing happened, I’m still daddy’s little girl. While the other side of me was telling me to be scared and cautious of him. I was too young and I didn’t know what side to listen to. I soon realized tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Mom yelled, “Julia, hurry up we’re hungry”. I replied the way I was expected to, “I’m coming”. I wiped away my tears, dried my face, and hid my emotions the best I could. I then left the bathroom, and then walked into the kitchen to sit down with my family and eat.

Everyone was laughing, telling stories, and stuffing their faces with food. I was pushing food around on my plate, and being quiet. Grandma kept asking me what was wrong, I kept saying, “Nothing”. I kept avoiding answering the question with more then an evasive answer. The questions kept coming, first by mom, then by my aunt, and then by my uncles. I snapped I couldn’t take it anymore; I was so frustrated and confused. I yelled, “STOP ASKING ME IF I’M OKAY”. Everyone was silent for what seemed to have been forever, but in reality was more like five seconds. Mom said to me, “Excuse yourself from the table. Go to your bedroom until you learn to show some respect”.

I gladly stood up and walked away. I wanted to be alone. I would feel better dealing with this weirdness by myself in the comfort and security of my own room. As I was walking to my bedroom, I heard my mom apologize for the way I was acting. She said, “I am going to check on her in a few minutes”.

Dad replied, “No, I will; I think she’s mad at me”.

I then closed my door and could no longer hear their conversations. One of the gifts my uncle bought me was a diary which came with a miniature heart shape lock and key. I opened the diary and stared at the blank pages for an hour trying to figure out how to organize the chaotic thoughts that were racing through my head. In an hour’s time, the only thing I managed to write was “Christmas 88”.

There was a knock on my bedroom door, and before I had a chance to stand up and open the door, my dad walked in and closed the door behind him. He sat on the bed next to me, and began to try to explain what happened. He said, “daddy did nothing wrong, and you hurt my feelings by blurting out that I had an erection. That really embarrassed me“. I hugged him and said, “I’m sorry”.

Honestly, I was sorry. At that moment I genuinely thought I did something wrong. In retrospect I realize how misguided that notion was. I know now that it was only a first step in the evilness of his future control over me through the manipulation of my fear, and my desire to be daddy‘s good little girl.

Dad was sitting to my left and he placed his right hand on my left leg, and then began patting me. It soon changed from a pat on the leg which was to confirm that everything was okay, to a massage. It wasn’t a big deal at first, but it soon become intrusive. His hand began to squeeze my leg, and his fingers worked their way to the inside of my thighs. I was stunned, and it was like I was dreaming. Nothing felt real, and this reality I was being pulled into seemed so distant from normality. The side of his hand rubbed up against my vagina through my jeans. Each time I felt his hand down there, I jerked. He calmly whispered, “It’s okay, shh”. Before I knew it his fingers had unbuttoned my pants and worked their way in between my pants and my underwear. His fingers rubbed my vagina through my underwear. I started to cry, but he kept saying, “It’s okay sweetie, it’s okay”. He pulled his hand out of my pants and then buttoned them. He wiped my tears away, placing his finger over my quivering lips and said, “Shh, remember not to embarrass daddy again”. He then stood up and walked out of my bedroom and shut the door behind him.

I heard my mom ask, “Is she still upset”?

Dad replied, “Yeah, I think she’s starting to get interested in boys, and a boy she’s interested in, isn’t interested in her”.

How could mom believe that? Why didn’t mom come in and talk to me? I still don’t fully understand it now, and on that day I felt betrayed by her because she chose not to check on me.

This was my 13th Christmas, the first time I felt afraid to be around my dad, the first time I felt like daddy and mom didn’t love me anymore. This was first time I had ever been touched in a sexual way, and the beginning of almost three years of sexual abuse. This was the subtle gentle beginning of a nightmare which would haunt me for the rest of my life. A nightmare I only recently have found the courage to talk about.

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I'm so sorry that this happened to you. But I think its a good thing that you are writing this out. I think it might give you some relief to share the story with others. I can relate to the "massage" on the thigh. My brother did that to me quite frequently. Strangely, he started out with the heavy molestation, & then when I got older it became more subdued, like the rubbing. So - it probably went the other direction for you.

Also - I wanted to say, you have a talent for writing as well. Besides the horrific content, it was written very detailed & like a professional writer had written it.

Hey there JuilaCThis is a very detailed and well-written post despite the horrific content. I'm really sorry that this all happened to you. The sad thing is, as you said, this was only the start and it's awful that this happened as and when it did. It's good that you've written it down here and I hope that it helps you deal with your past abuse by offering relief and healing. DJM19

Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does. ~William JamesAnyone can face a crisis, it's day-to-day living that you need to be careful of-Anton Chekhov

I'm so sorry that this happened to you. But I think its a good thing that you are writing this out. I think it might give you some relief to share the story with others. I can relate to the "massage" on the thigh. My brother did that to me quite frequently. Strangely, he started out with the heavy molestation, & then when I got older it became more subdued, like the rubbing. So - it probably went the other direction for you.

Also - I wanted to say, you have a talent for writing as well. Besides the horrific content, it was written very detailed & like a professional writer had written it.

- EGD.

EarlGreyDregs, I am sorry that you were also abused. It did go the other direction for me. The abuse I went through became so sadistic that I doubt I will ever be able to share some parts of it.

Dear I am far from a professional writer. I never went to college and I barely graduated high school. I do appreciate the compliments, however unwarranted they are.

DJM19 wrote:Hey there JuilaCThis is a very detailed and well-written post despite the horrific content. I'm really sorry that this all happened to you. The sad thing is, as you said, this was only the start and it's awful that this happened as and when it did. It's good that you've written it down here and I hope that it helps you deal with your past abuse by offering relief and healing. DJM19

Again thanks for the unwarranted compliments.

Sharing has helped me process what I went through. I have written about the first 8 month thus far, but I have 27 months left.

I am really sorry to hear of what happened to you. You are brave to share here and thank you for trusting us with your experiences. Abusers have a way of making us feel confused, bad, shocked, and so many other things that we then bury away and I am so sorry to hear about the beginnings of when that happened to you - and that it was not the end of it too. I hope you find the writing therapeutic for you - I find writing really helps, esp writing songs. Please share as much or as little as you want with us.

DJM19 wrote:It's alright JuilaC, we're here to help you. Just take your time and post when you feel ready.

I will get it all out eventually. I am sort of OCD when it comes to finishing what I start.Thanks for the encouragement.

CrackedGirl wrote:Hi Julia,

I am really sorry to hear of what happened to you. You are brave to share here and thank you for trusting us with your experiences. Abusers have a way of making us feel confused, bad, shocked, and so many other things that we then bury away and I am so sorry to hear about the beginnings of when that happened to you - and that it was not the end of it too. I hope you find the writing therapeutic for you - I find writing really helps, esp writing songs. Please share as much or as little as you want with us.

Cracked

Yes, they most certainly do have the ability to mess with out melons (heads). Witting is therapeutic for me. Like I said in one of the other posts, I have already written about a lot of my abuse. So much in fact I have to be careful not to flood the board with my posts. When I started writing it was very very hard, but it helped. It's still hard to talk about many of the things he did because it feels that as soon as I talk about them or write them down it becomes real. I know that makes no sense.